


another sunset fading in your eyes

by helsinkibaby



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Het, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre Canon, Rare Pair, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caitlin hates bars. But she remembers fondly the summer she spent working in one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	another sunset fading in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I think I went way off prompt...
> 
> Theme : free for all  
> Prompt : any(/any), any/any or any + any, meeting a summer romance again years later.  
> http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/741689.html?thread=98070841#t98070841
> 
> Title from Kip Moore's "Girl of the Summer"

Caitlin hates dive bars.

Actually, Caitlin hates bars full stop, and to call this a dive bar would be seriously over-estimating it. This place, as far as she can see, only has aspirations to one day reach the lofty heights of a dive bar. Caitlin could give a lengthy treatise of all the reasons why places like this should be wiped from the planet on feminist principles alone but feminist principles aren't going to pay her rent and, after a particularly explosive Easter Sunday dinner, neither is her mother. Which would be fine because she has the monthly stipend from the trust Dad set up for her before he got sick - she used to wonder if he realised how bad things would get between her and Mom, now she knows for sure that he did - except that when med school starts back up again, she'll need every cent of it. Which is why when she sees the help wanted sign, she pulls on an outfit of extremes, one that consists of her tightest shirt, her shortest skirt, her highest heels, trowels on her makeup, swallows her pride and applies for it. 

Turns out Caitlin might hate bars but Catie - the name she gives them for the part she decides to play - is a natural. 

It also turns out that she's actually picked a decent place to work for the summer. Sure, it's a shithole but  the boss is fair, the tips are good and best of all? It's around the corner from one of the largest police precincts in Central City. Which means in the evenings, they get a lot of cops and other station workers coming off shift and dropping in for a drink, which oftentimes turns into two or three or more if there's sports on the television or karaoke in the corner. It might be a shithole, but it's probably the safest shithole in the city and after only a few days of working there, Caitlin's surprised to find she's actually enjoying herself. 

*

She's been there a couple of weeks when one Wednesday night, a group of cops (who else?) descend en mass.  Which is unusual for the middle of the week and, judging from the ribbing directed at one in particular, she quickly  works out that it's his birthday, hence the impromptu party. They're sitting at one of her tables and as the evening goes on, their noise gets louder but their tips get better so she figures she can cope with that. But it's when some of them move to the pool table that things get interesting. 

Because one of the gang - who she's already pegged as the one that no-one's too fond of, being as he's a boastful braggart who's spent way too long staring at her chest, long enough that some of his companions have jabbed him in the ribs about it - gets told that he couldn't even beat a girl at pool and naturally, he decides to challenge her to prove that he can. 

"Come on, man, leave her alone, she has to work here." One of the other cops, one of the older ones there, speaks up for her and Caitlin gives him a quick grin. She's seen him here a couple of times, noticed him because he's the one that the rest all try to push towards the karaoke machine. Tall and dark-skinned, he's got a great voice and though it's always hard to get him to the stage, one he gets up there, he really gets into it. He does a version of "Dock of the Bay" that makes her smile for hours after she's heard it, even makes her want to dance along a little, and Caitlin doesn't dance, though it appears that Catie does. Tonight though, he's shouted down by the rest of them who either really want to see the braggart beaten or who want to see her leaning across a pool table and while Caitlin would be turning her nose up at the whole affair, Catie's reaching for a pool cue before her boss decides to step in and ruin the excellent tips that are coming her way. 

Hey, her dorm has a pool table in the living room and pool is all about geometry and angles and maths and she's a freaking nerd for crying out loud. She's got this. 

She cleans his clock and earns a round of applause, slightly surprised but she'll take it, for her troubles. 

It's almost closing time when her would-be saviour appears at her side, a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eyes that makes her want to smile back. He looks around him, like he wants to make sure no-one's looking at them, then he presses a roll of bills into her hand. "What's this?" she asks because there's a tip jar behind the bar for everyone to pool and anything he's giving her should go in there and they all know it.

He shrugs, glances over his shoulder again. "A few of us put money on you kicking Benson's ass," he tells her and his grin grows brighter. "We figured it was only right you got a cut of the profits." 

"You didn't have to-" she begins but then she stops, estimating how much of a tip she's just been given. Lest he thinks she's going to refuse it, she just says, "Thank you," and slips the money into her pocket. 

"You're welcome," he says and he takes a step away. "Just remind me never to challenge you around the pool table." 

He's still grinning as he walks away and she smiles the whole way home. 

*

He's sitting at the bar a few days later on his own, orders neat bourbon and sips at it quietly. He doesn't look like he wants to be bothered so she leaves him to it and she's surprised when she hears him say, "Win any games of pool lately?" 

She gives him her best Catie-smile, the one that she's perfected this summer. If med school doesn't work out, she's thinking about acting. "Is that a challenge?" 

He chuckles, holds up both hands. "I know when I'm beat," he tells her. The smile vanishes as quickly as it appeared as his gaze slides to the clock above the bar. 

Caitlin makes the best guess she can. "Someone stand you up?" 

He raises his glass to his lips and his wedding ring catches in the light and she wants to bite off her tongue. "Rough day," he says after he's taken a sip. "Missing kid case... and now I get to go home to my kids and try not to think about it." 

It's not hard to school her features into an expression of sympathy. Trying to distract him is easy too, because he's given her an obvious opening. "How old are your kids?" 

"Twenty," he says and she blinks in surprise. She hadn't pegged him for that old. "Both in college, we try to have a family night once a week... Movies, board games, my daughter cooks... It's nice." He grimaces as he takes another sip of his bourbon. "Just gotta take the edge off first." 

No mention of a wife, Caitlin can't help but notice. Not that that matters, he wouldn't be the first man to be separated and still wear a ring. Or to omit mention of a wife when talking to a woman at a bar, even if said woman was only a few years older than his kids. 

"It sounds nice," Caitlin hears herself say, a little bit wistful and that's genuine. Her family meals haven't been like that in a long time - more and more, looking back at things, she wonders if they ever were.  

He blinks, tilts his head and she half expects him to ask her about it but he doesn't. Instead he drains his glass and stands up. "Fingers crossed," he says, sliding some money across the counter, waving his hand when she goes towards the register. "Keep the change," he says. "See you around, Catie." 

"You too, Detective." He never wears a uniform and she doesn't know his name so she thinks she's safe enough with the title. But it still makes him stop, has him looking her up and down. 

"Joe," he says after a second and she feels a smile coming to her lips. 

"Good night, Joe," she says and as he walks out, he looks back and he's smiling too. 

*

She tries not to notice that after that when he comes in, he usually gravitates towards her section. Definitely tries not to notice that they chit-chat every time, that he smiles more easily in her presence than he does around anyone else. And she assiduously refuses to admit that she does the same thing with him. 

But it doesn't matter if she doesn't notice, because the rest of the girls do and with teasing smiles, they don't let her forget it. 

*

Considering that she's working in a shithole, wearing the skimpiest of outfits and enough makeup to sink the Titanic, she supposes it's a minor miracle that she gets halfway through the summer before someone gets overly handsy with her. Even then, all things considered, it could be an awful lot worse - he's mouthy before he gets handsy so she's giving him a wide berth but not wide enough. He grabs her ass first and when she slaps his hand away, he doesn't take kindly to it. He calls her something that is completely unrepeatable and slaps her across the face which, because she's off balance from being grabbed and wearing ridiculously high heels, knocks her off her feet. She hits her head off her thankfully empty drinks tray on the way down, hard enough to have her seeing stars but not so hard that she doesn't see what happens next. 

Because seriously, drunk, mouthy and handsy he might be, but the guy has to be an idiot as well. 

How stupid to do you have to be to lay hands on a woman in a cop bar, of all places?

The answer comes like one of those jokes that she used to hear in grade school, how many cops does it take to change a lightbulb, except in this case it's how many cops does it take to avenge a lady?  In this case, the answer is two to take him by the arms, another two to hold back the rest of the cops who are baying for his blood. Another one to pull out the handcuffs and slap them on, another to read him his rights and two more to pick Caitlin up off the ground and put her sitting on a chair. One of the other waitresses brings her a towel with ice on it for the side of her face and she winces as she holds it there. 

She doesn't know how much time passes before she hears two familiar voices. "How is she?" That's Joe's voice and she looks up, stands up, to answer. Or at least she tries to. When she does, the room tilts around her and she has to hold onto the table to stay upright. 

"OK, Catie, I'm calling you a cab." Her boss doesn't sound like it's a subject that's up for debate and, frankly, Caitlin's not in any mood to argue anyway.  

"I'll take her." If anyone is surprised by Joe's words, they don't seem to show it. Caitlin's purse and jacket appear at her side and Joe walks her out of the bar, leads her to his car. 

"You don't have to-" she begins and he cuts her off with one raised eyebrow. 

"I want to make sure you get home safe," he tells her. "For what it's worth, that chucklehead's about to be sleeping it off in the drunk tank. Assault charges if you want to press them... Possible resisting arrest too." His lips are set in a thin line and he shrugs as she looks at him, surprised. "Masterson said he didn't come quietly, who am I to argue?" 

Caitlin reaches up to rub the bridge of her nose, lets her head fall back against the headrest. "I don't want any trouble," she says quietly. 

Joe actually snorts. "Personally, I'd throw away the key," he says and she remembers that he has a daughter not much younger than she is. "But I don't think there's much chance of that." 

Which is not something Caitlin had to be told and she sighs as she shakes her head, closes her eyes and lets the rest of the journey pass in silence. 

She doesn't miss the frown he gets when he sees whereabouts in town she lives - to say it's not the best area would be to put it kindly but the building is clean, the super is, well, super, and in term time she spends most of her time at school or the library so it's really only a place to sleep and shower. She's surprised when he walks her right to her door, even more surprised when he presses a card into her hand. "This is my number," he says. "You need anything..." 

She nods her head, swallows past the sudden lump in her throat. It's a long time since she's had the feeling that someone is looking out for her. "Thank you," she says, accepting the card and, on impulse, she stands up on tiptoe and brushes her lips across his cheek. Which means it's his turn to look surprised and that's the image she has when she closes the door behind her and slides the deadbolt home. 

*

She's surprised a couple of days later when he shows up at her door in the middle of the day. He's on his lunch break, he explains, looking awkward as hell as he stands in the middle of her one room apartment and looks everywhere but at the bed and her face. 

"Some of the guys felt bad that you missed half your shift," he tells her, holding out an envelope. "They took up a collection for you..." 

She takes the envelope, peeks inside and even a cursory glance tells her that there's at least two weeks' worth of tips there, possibly closer to three. It's an incredibly generous gesture, one that has her looking up and smiling through sudden tears. 

He meets her gaze and winces,  reaching out and taking her chin in his hand. Ever so gently, he turns her head to the side, inspecting the bruise there. "Nothing a little make up won't hide," she whispers though she doesn't know why she's whispering. 

Except she does - something to do with her hammering heart and racing pulse because for all the times they've talked, he's never been this close to her before. 

He swallows hard and his eyes dilate as they flick down to her lips. He swallows again and pulls in a shuddering breath. "I should go." He's whispering too. 

He doesn't move. 

And he doesn't take his hand from her face. 

If this had happened a couple of nights ago, she'd blame the bang on the head for the way the world turns hazy at the edges, for how everything seems to go into slow motion as they lean in towards one another and their lips meet, for how her knees decide to go weak and she has to wind her arms around his neck and pull him close, just so she can stay upright. 

Which isn't a problem anymore once the backs of her legs hit the bed and he lowers her down gently, the warm weight of him anchoring her to reality. His smile is warm as ever as it moves across her body and while she's never heard him sound like this in the bar, she has to admit she doesn't have any complaints. 

He takes a very long lunch that day. 

And the next. 

*

It's not a relationship, they both know that. They're not dating, they're not going to live happily ever after, for a whole host of reasons. 

But she enjoys spending time with him, enjoys hearing his voice when he talks to her, enjoys hearing it even more when he sings at karaoke. He starts asking her about her favourite songs and those are the ones that get cued up on the machine the following night when she listens to his buddies hoot and holler and she tries to ignore the heat pooling low in her stomach and he catches her eyes from the stage and smiles a little smile that tells her he knows exactly what he's doing to her. 

She enjoys those nights when he takes her home, those afternoons where he sneaks away to her apartment. The feel of his smile against her skin, the touch of his fingers as he learns how to make her twist and turn and come undone against him, the taste of him on her lips, it's all new and amazing and intoxicating. It's not all one way traffic either because she's always been a good student and she takes great pride, not to mention great pleasure, in learning all the ways she can cause him to fall apart, all the different cadences to his voice as he whispers, groans, shouts her name. 

But they know this is just for the summer. 

And they're both fine with that. 

Her last night at the bar, he takes her home and, with the energy and drive of a man half his age, he takes her to the edge and sends her crashing over time and time again. For the first time, he stays the night, but they don't sleep and he slips out with one last kiss as the rising sun begins to peek through her flimsy curtains. 

She sheds a tear or two, but not from regret. 

*

She thinks about him sometimes over the years, idly, fondly. Sometimes when she hears a song from that summer that used to blast out over the bar speakers, more often when she catches a line of one of the songs he used to sing on karaoke nights. ("Dock of the Bay." Always, "Dock of the Bay.")  

She moves on with her life, out of that apartment and into a better one, meets other men, even falls in love with one and if, some nights, it's a different kiss that haunts her dreams, she never lets on. 

Not until she's standing in a hospital in the middle of a power outage, emergency lights blinking and a new patient on the bed in front of her and she looks up and sees him staring suspiciously at Doctor Wells. For a second she thinks that lack of sleep and lack of appetite, all the grief and heartache of the last few weeks are making her hallucinate. Then Doctor Wells introduces himself, introduces her and though Joe covers it up, she easily sees the flare of recognition in his eyes. His handshake is firm, steady, familiar and Caitlin swallows hard, fights back the by now familiar urge to cry. 

It's easy, in the flurry  of activity that comes with getting Barry to STAR Labs, the work of trying to figure out what's happening to him, to stabilise his condition, to avoid talking to Joe beyond what absolutely needs to be said. It suits her too because losing Ronnie is still too painful, too raw - she's locked her emotions behind a wall of ice and that's the only way she's getting through her days at the moment. To talk to Joe... she's not sure she's strong enough for that. 

But he doesn't know any of that. 

He appears at her side one night, long after Cisco and Doctor Wells have gone home. It's not the first night that they've been here like this, but it's the first night that he appears with two cups of coffee in hand, one for him and one for her.  He offers it to her with a silent smile and she takes it and sips it, somehow surprised and not surprised to find that, after all these years, he still remembers how she takes her coffee.  

"Thank you." She breaks the silence and sees him shrug out of the corner of her eye. 

"You're saving my kid's life," he says softly. "Seems like a cup of coffee's the least I can do." He pauses, tilts his head and she knows what he's going to say before he says it. "Doctor Snow."

There's a smile in his voice that she remembers well and it makes her heart ache.  Another sip of coffee does nothing to wash away the lump in her throat and there's a sudden sting of tears in her eyes. It gets worse when his voice drops even lower and he says, "I knew you'd do it, you know." 

She glances up at him and one single tear makes its way down her cheek. His hand moves and for a moment she's sure he's going to touch her, lay his hand on her shoulder and the notion terrifies her because she knows that if he does, she'll start to cry. 

She's cried since the explosion of course, but somehow tonight it feels like if she starts, she won't stop. 

His hand falls back to his side and she steps around him, heads to her office and her tests results and her data and safety. 

The coffee helps.  

*

Caitlin's skill at compartmentalising and Joe's innate gentlemanliness mean it's easy for the past to stay in the past. She becomes his son's doctor, his team-mate when he becomes the Flash and, though Joe will never say it and nor will she, she's the one he depends on to put on the breaks when Barry is pushing himself too hard. ("Don't look at me, I'm on your side," she tells him and she wonders how he interprets that, wonders how she means it.) 

He's there when she finds Ronnie again, even gives them sanctuary at his house and, man, isn't that awkward. The first time he sees her after Ronnie leaves, his eyes are kind and, when he leaves STAR Labs, there's a Jitters gift card tucked underneath her computer keyboard, the nearest he can get to bringing her coffee these days. He's not there, thankfully, when she sings karaoke for the first time in her life though as she falls asleep with Barry by her side, for a split second, she imagines Joe there instead. 

He's there at her wedding, smiles and claps in all the right places. And he's there afterwards, during the mourning and Eddie's funeral where she stays at the back and cries for him and Iris, for Ronnie and herself, and Joe looks at her with such sympathy and tenderness that she cries even harder. 

He smiles when she kisses Jay at Christmas, is as horrified as she is when his true identity is revealed. 

And, when she's handcuffed to a desk in the police headquarters, she looks up into the balcony and meets his eyes. There's a whole conversation in that brief glance and, when he's gone, she feels stronger, safer, like she's going to get out of this. 

She does, even plays her own small part in defeating Zoom. But when it's all over, the nightmares start. 

They start and they don't stop, no matter how many tablets she takes to make her sleep. She tries everything she knows to make them stop and when that fails, out of desperation, she goes to the source. 

The precinct is practically deserted that late at night, just like it was when Zoom had her captive there. She's shaking as she walks into the bullpen, stares down at the very spot where she kneeled so scared for so long. She can remember exactly how she felt, the sounds, the smell of Zoom, the touch of his hand against her skin and she shudders, then jumps and whirls with a little shriek as someone says her name. 

But it's not Zoom, it's Joe. 

And he's not looking at her with anger or hatred, but absolute concern. 

"What are you doing here?" His voice is as gentle as his eyes when he looks her up and down and she knows exactly what she must look like. She came here from home, from trying to sleep, so she's in sweatpants and a baggy STAR Labs sweatshirt that she pulled on, one that used to belong to Ronnie. Her hair is scraped back into the messiest of ponytails and there is not a scrap of makeup on her face - usually she wouldn't go to the mailbox looking like this and the thought comes to her that her mother would be appalled. She fights back a hysterical giggle, claps her hands over her mouth. 

"I couldn't sleep," she tells him, the words spilling from her lips. "I have nightmares... about Jay, about being here... I thought if I came back, faced my fears..." She raises a fist to her lips, hoping to keep back a sob. It only partly works. 

The lines on his forehead deepen and he reaches out, his hand closing over her shoulder. "Caitlin." She barely hears him, eyes returning to that spot on the floor. His fingers tighten on her shoulder. "Catie."

The name breaks through when nothing else would have. 

"No-one's called me that for years," she whispers, realising for the first time that she's crying. 

"Let me take you home." It's phrased like it's a request but she knows he's not going to take no for an answer. 

Still, she protests.  "My car-" 

"I'll take care of that in the morning," he promises. Both hands are now on her shoulders and he's looking down at her, so close she fancies she can feel the heat of his body. "Come on... let's go." 

Suddenly, she's too tired to fight him, lets him lead her out of the precinct, towards his car. Once he's typed her address into his GPS, she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the headrest and it's a surprise when she opens her eyes again and the car has stopped and they're outside her apartment. 

He walks her up - it never would have occurred to her that he'd do otherwise - and walks in with her, stands and looks at her as she drops down on her couch. He runs a hand over his face and his voice is as tired as she feels when he asks, "You ok?" 

She means to say yes. Of course she is. Or, not really, but she will be. 

She says no instead. 

His breath leaves him in a rush and there's a long pause before he speaks again. 

"You want me to stay?" 

She knows her eyes are wide, that her heart is pounding because she's terrified. Terrified to let him stay, even more terrified to be alone. 

"Please." 

It's all she can whisper and maybe he knows that because he walks over to stand beside her, holds out a hand. She grips it, unsure of whether to pull him down beside her or use it to help her up. She plumps for the latter, leads him into her bedroom where she lies down on her side on the unmade bed, watches him toe off his shoes, toss his jacket, shirt and tie on the chair in the corner. That done, he lies down beside her, flat on his back, arms at his side, hands joined over his stomach. 

He's leaving this up to her, she realises. 

She gives it a minute then gives into temptation, scoots closer to him and lets her head rest on his shoulder. It's all the invitation he needs to change position, manoeuvre them both so that she's wrapped in his arms, her head on his chest and his chin resting against the top of her head. 

She closes her eyes, breathes in the scent of him. 

And for the first time in weeks, she sleeps without dreams. 

*

When she wakes up the next morning, he's still there. They've moved during the night and now she's lying on her side, facing away from him, but his chest is pressed against her back, his legs tucked neatly against hers, his arm across her waist, holding her tightly. He's awake, she knows from the feel of his body, not to mention the feel of his fingertips tracing lazy strokes on the skin of her stomach where her sweatshirt's begun to ride up. She rubs her cheek against the pillow, takes a deep breath, both actions to let him know she's awake but his fingers don't still their motion. 

Part of her is glad. 

When she turns her head, looks over her shoulder at him, his eyes are fixed on her, clear and steady. "Hey," she whispers, and the edges of his lips turn up in a smile. 

"Hey." He's staring at her lips and she shivers. "You slept." 

Amazement has her smiling. It's something else, something she can't name, that has her rolling over, lying on her side facing him. The movement dislodges his arm and she misses the touch, but only for a moment because when she's lying still, his hand rests on her hip, warm through the material of her sweatpants. 

"Thank you." She's not sure if she's thanking him for taking her home or for staying or for just being him. The words seem small though, not enough somehow, and it could be that they're here again after so long, it could be the hypnotic rhythm of his thumb sweeping over her hip, it could be that she's so damn tired of feeling scared and alone and numb and she wants to go back to a time when she was none of those things, but she scoots forward and presses her lips against his. 

For a split second, he doesn't react, then he kisses her back, slow and sweet and gentle and familiar. His hand doesn't move from her hip, his body stays perfectly still and he lets her set the pace, just stays kissing her for what seems like hours. She's the one who eventually pulls away and when she does, her heart is racing, her blood singing in her veins and she wants him with an aching need that is almost painful. 

But she knows she's not ready for that. Not yet. 

She opens her mouth to explain that to him but he stops her with a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You don't have to say it," he tells her. "I can wait." 

Caitlin frowns. "What if..."

"If you change your mind?" She nods and he shrugs. "Then I'm still your friend. Nothing's going to change that." He takes her hand, kisses her palm. "I won't let it." 

Tears sting her eyes - funny, even after everything they've been through, she'd never considered him as a friend, not the same way Barry and Cisco and Iris were. 

She's never been so glad to be wrong. 

*

She goes back to her work in STAR Labs, tries to push through it by herself. Nights are easier now somehow but the days are still rough so she grits her teeth and gets herself a therapist. She expects to spend the sessions talking about Ronnie (she sticks to the story that he died in the particle accelerator explosion, anything else requires too much fudging) and Jay, who she classifies as the man she'd thought she could build a future with who appeared charming but in reality was megalomaniacal and abusive. That one doesn't really require any fudging. It turns out, though, that she's got a lot of buried feelings about her father's illness and death, to say nothing about her fraught relationship with her mother that all gets brought to the surface. She leaves those sessions feeling wrung out and exhausted but she knows it's helping her so she keeps going. She sees Joe, but only around STAR Labs and with groups of people at his house, and though sometimes she knows her eyes linger on him a little too long, feels his eyes on hers too, she doesn't take it any further than that. She's still not ready and Joe deserves more from a relationship than she can bring to it when she's still trying to figure things out. 

And honestly? She knows she does too. 

The months pass and as they do, the cold emotionless Caitlin Snow thaws bit by bit as the therapy chips away at the ice walls that have surrounded her heart. She's getting better, she knows, is more relaxed, is smiling more, something Cisco comments on one day with a hesitant little smile and a squeeze of her arm. 

He's surprised when she hugs him. 

She's shocked how natural it is for her to initiate the contact. 

That's when she decides to initiate some more. 

The precinct is almost deserted when she arrives but Joe is sitting at his desk, mired in paperwork. He looks up when he hears her footsteps approaching, a smile appearing on his face. "What brings you by here?" 

She's thought about this carefully because once, he knew her there as Catie, who smiled as easily as she'd flirted. Now he knows her as Caitlin, serious and sensible and sober, and while she knows she was both those people, she's not anymore. She's somewhere in the middle and even though she's still working out where all the pieces exactly fit, she knows she's ready for something else. 

Something more. 

She takes a deep breath, lays her heart on the line. "There's this bar I know," she begins and he raises one eyebrow. "It's a bit of a dive, to be honest... but I haven't been there in a while. I thought you might like to buy me a drink there." 

A smile spreads across Joe's face, warming her from the inside out. "I'd like that," he says, standing up and walking with her into a new life.   
 


End file.
